


Howl

by rabidbinbadger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Dogs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Spells & Enchantments, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidbinbadger/pseuds/rabidbinbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has survived (ish - yeah, okay, he died, but he came back, it counts) apocalypses and dooms and the end of the world more times than he can be assed to count. He is not going to get killed by a goddamn dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware this is not a Methadone update. You'll get that tomorrow, this is just something I doodled while I was bored at work.

Teeth snap at Dean’s heels and he lunges forwards, throwing himself on the ground, doing a fucked up kind of gambol and ending up back on his feet again. Gabby Douglas, eat your heart out.

“LITTLE HELP HERE?” He yells, at Sam, at Cas, at fucking O’hlyshtblls, little known pagan god of really embarrassing fuckups. Anyone who might be listening, basically.

The dog, because yeah, he’s being chased by a dog. Not a hellhound, or a skinwalker, or a werewolf – a fucking Newfoundland – lets out a volley of barks, still hot on Dean’s heels.

“I will not shoot someone’s beloved family pet.” Dean mutters to himself under his breath, repeats it for emphasis. He doesn’t want to – and Sam would never fucking forgive him – that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to have to, though.

He can feel something suspiciously warm and breath-like against the back of his leg and that is not fucking good. He needs to get away from this open street, find a tree or a fence or something that he can climb until the spell wears off and he’s safe again.

A quick glance around confirms that he’s bang out of luck as far as foliage is concerned, but there are a few dingy looking alleys that he could chance – hope he’s greeted with a nice chain link fence that he can throw himself up, and not a gigantic fucking brick wall.

He picks an alley, goes for broke.

It’s a brick wall. Of course it’s a fucking brick wall, because he’s Dean Winchester and some asshole somewhere has placed a bullshit intergenerational curse on his entire family.

Now he’s gonna have to shoot the fucking dog.

He throws on a desperate burst of speed, enough to pull away a little, and also possibly do some serious muscle damage.

He draws his gun, aims and fires without looking, because he’s a fucking professional.

Except there’s no pained yelp, which is, um, not a great sign. He turns around, ready to fire at the dog probably inches from ripping his face off, stops.

Cas is crouched by the prone form of the dog, stroking at its ear and whispering something soothing.

“I-is it dead?” Dean asks, and Cas shakes his head.

There’s a moment of slightly charged silence, and then Cas stands up, dusts of his coat and announces.

“Sam didn’t need my help dealing with the witch, so I thought I’d check on you.” The _good job I did_ is left unspoken.

“Yeah, well, you needn’t have bothered. I had it under control.” Dean blusters, in place of the thank you he so obviously means.

“Clearly.”

“I didn’t want to shoot the dog!” Dean tries to defend himself, indignant and a little too high pitched.

Cas smiles – fond, indulgent, the way you smile at someone you love when they’re being utterly ridiculous. It’s infectious. Dean’s indignation melts away, replaced by a giddiness that quickly gives way to hysteria. He folds over, letting out great, gulping howls of laughter.

“I nearly got killed by a dog!” He chokes out between breaths, words broken up and barely understandable as such.

Cas leans down to Dean’s level. He’s not laughing himself, not like Dean, but he’s grinning like an idiot now, wide and gleeful.

“I don’t think she would have killed you. She’s usually quite docile. The first bite would have broken the spell’s hold, surprised her back to cognisance.”

That doesn’t calm Dean down, something about the unusual phrasing – the word _surprised_ , and the mental image it brings. Instead he starts to wheeze, laughing so hard he can’t quite pull enough air into his lungs, ribs aching with it.

“Dean?” Cas asks, a little concerned now. “Are you okay, do you need me to do something?”

“I’m fine.” He gasps out, attempts to regulate his breathing and stands with some difficulty. Cas follows him up, and suddenly they’re very close together, barely an inch between them.

Dean blames the lack of oxygen for what he does next – it’s clearly made him giddy and fucking stupid.

He leans forwards, captures Cas’s lips in a kiss that’s still a bit giggly.

For a second or two it’s the best idea he’s ever had, and then he realises that Cas isn’t kissing back. He’s frozen, totally still.

Well, that’s a very effective way to kill Dean’s mood. 10/10. They should bottle it up and fucking sell it in the shops. Fantastic.

And because he’s Dean, because he’s not allowed to have good things, he doesn’t think yeah okay, maybe he’s startled, maybe I should give him some time to process. He thinks he’s fucked up – he’s finally gone and done it and now the only chance he’s got of keeping Cas around is to frantically backpedal.

And that’s fine, and he’s calm and measured. Shit happens. Unrequited lo-lust is a thing. It happens. He just needs to apply a bit of bluster and it’ll be fine.

No. Big. Deal.

Dean backs away, spits on the floor, and wipes his hand over his mouth as if in disgust.

“You’re not laughing?” He observes, twisting his features into what he hopes is a wry smile.

“No.” Cas’s tone is blank.

“I was tryna make you laugh. That’s what humans do,” he explains, “we laugh at ridiculous things. And you weren’t laughing, and I thought well, what’s more ridiculous than me getting killed by a dog, so I, yeah.” He vaguely points at Cas’s mouth. “Tryna make you laugh, buddy.” He repeats, flustered. “S’clearly not working, though.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny, Dean.” Cas says, and there’s something in his tone, something a little bit, dunno – disgusted, angry, upset.

Not good.

“Okay, so, well, I’m gonna go back, and yeah.”

Dean turns tail and beats a retreat before he can make things worse.

 

*

 

Cas kicks at the wall with so much force that bits of it fly off – looks around to make sure no-one saw. They didn’t. It’s just him and the dog in the alley.

He flops onto the ground next to her, settles her great, shaggy head head across his lap, digs his fingers into her fur and starts to stroke. He’s tense, worried, caught off guard. Angry, too.

Dean _fucking_ Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long, full of overtime week back at work, but that does mean I've had a lot of time to come up with little fic ideas. I might carry this on - I have a vague plot idea - but only if people are interested.
> 
> [Rebloggable link](http://rabidbinbadger.tumblr.com/post/136769190891/howl)


End file.
